


lay your head on my sunken chest

by sarahbacou



Series: we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Use, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Sickfic, i love martha laurens she kicks ass, part four of six
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:24:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahbacou/pseuds/sarahbacou
Summary: so, when you’re weakwhen you are on your kneesi’ll do my best with the time that’s leftsworn with your spirit, you’re fully fleshed(m.m)aka - the one where nobody has healthy coping mechanisms





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so originally i was going to post this story as one long text, but i've nearly reached 10,000 words and 18 pages and haven't even finished half of the story, so we're going with more of a chaptered story this time! it'll be six installments, which i'm hoping to be done with because of nano, but we'll see. i'm going through lots of stuff at home so it probably won't happen. anyways, you should probably read my last three installments of this story or nothing will make sense. 
> 
> here's a list of trigger warnings for the first chapter. more will be added if needed.
> 
> \- drug use  
> \- drug abuse  
> \- physical abuse  
> \- mental abuse  
> \- anxiety  
> \- depression  
> \- non-consensual sex  
> \- attempted rape

Alex sat on the old couch in the living room. It had been a nice beige at some point when John bought it from a flea market all those years ago, but it had since become a mess of stains and rips, held only together by duct tape and odd stitching from Hercules. He leaned his head on his hand, sighing as his free one typed aimlessly on the computer. 

His job wasn’t glamorous, which was fine, he wasn’t used to glorified positions of wealth and status anyways. Back in Nevis, his hometown, Alex had run a small shipping business that dealt with exports and imports, and that, along with his essays on the state of his third world country, had earned him a small apartment with three other men in New York City. It was fine, Alex assumed. Everybody back then knew his name. In Nevis, he was only popular for the islanders gain. The job itself was marginally important; it was only Alex who made a difference. Nowadays, due to his low white blood cell count, he mainly stayed inside, but had managed to get a freelance writing job that paid him enough to pay his fair share of the rent and his medicine. 

Currently, he was working on a blog post about global warming, though Alex didn’t really see much point. His target audience had always been twenty-something millennials like himself; people who still believed that Pluto was still a planet, people who would rather watch 90’s cartoons then local news, people who fought against civil and animal cruelty. This post wouldn’t get many hits. People would just scroll past it without a second glance, because they already _knew_ global warming wasn’t a hoax. People in Nevis certainly didn’t. Still, Alex persisted, only pausing to crack his fingers and neck at random intervals.

It was a peaceful type of quiet. Everyone else was out of the house. Hercules and Lafayette were at work. John was visiting his father, though Alex tried to deter him from the trip altogether.

_“You’re too sensitive,” he spat out the night John was packing. Alex’s voice held no softness to it. Indeed, he was a man of terrifying truthfulness, harsh angles and skin made of metal._

_“Okay,” John replied, stuffing another shirt into the suitcase._  

 _“You’re stupid.”_  

 _“Says the man who shared a needle with a homeless girl and contracted AIDS.” John laughed coldly. “Yeah, Alex._ I’m _the stupid one.”_

 _“You wanna know how this is gonna play out, you dumb bitch?” Alex relished the sight of John flinching as he insulted him. He loved having control over his partners. It was so easy to manipulate John, ever since they got back together in high school. He pinned John against the nearest wall, eyes glinting with greedy malice, lips in a slightly disgusted frown. “You’re gonna go, and poor daddy is gonna tell you how bad of a man I am, and how much of a disappointment you are to the family, and you’re gonna come crying to me like the spineless baby you are, because you_ know _that I’m the only good thing in your life. But y’know what, Jack-?”_

 _“_ Don’t-” _For a moment, Alex thought he saw a small spark of fire in John’s eyes, and the warning in his voice gave his anger away. Alex slapped him._

 _“Sorry, Jack? What was that? Don’t what?”_  

 _“Never... Nevermind. Let me go. I’m not even going for my father. I’m going for Martha. She hasn’t seen me since my high school graduation, and I wanna make sure she’s doing okay.”_  

 _“I won’t be here when you get back. I swear to fucking god, Jack. You leave, and you’ll never see me again.”_  

 _Again, John laughed humorlessly. “Oh yeah? And where’re you gonna go this time? Fuji? I’d like to see you make it out of the apartment building on your own, baby girl.”_  

_Alex slapped him once more, feeling his chest swell with pride when he saw John’s cheeks grow red with irritation. He smiled, cruel intentions filling his brain. “No. I’ll kill myself.  If you leave, Jack, I’m gonna kill myself.”_

_“Would you really?”_

_“Test me and find out.” Alex let John go, and he grabbed his suitcase. Before John was out the door, Alex was sitting on the bed, and said: “I only say these things because I love you.”_

Of course, John still left. He’d been gone for five days now, and six still remained until he came back to New York. Alex was hopelessly bored without him. The two of them no longer smoked weed and got blackout drunk on the weekends, but Alex still missed having John around. He missed having someone to shove into a corner of the bedroom and kiss. He missed having someone lay on top of him to ground him when the nights were too dark. Alex clicked his tongue, knowing better than to dwell on thoughts like this. His therapist told him dwelling did nothing. He couldn’t change the past, and he couldn’t control the future. All Alex could do was sit here on the couch, finish up his short essay, and click submit. 

Alex pushed the laptop away and sighed, the air pushing his wayward bangs out of his face for a few short seconds and stretching out on the couch. He should have made a hair appointment last week- his hair had gotten a little past shoulder-length now, like how it had been when he had run away. 

Hercules, John, and Lafayette would never know the true reason why Alex ran away. They didn’t need to. They could continue to think it was because Alex was frighteningly insecure about domesticity, and sure, that was part of it, but it was such a small fraction that Alex rarely counted it as an actual reason. They could continue to think that these stupid therapy sessions were working, that Alex was, quote unquote, “getting better” in his anger issues and his mental stability, and they could think that the life support meetings were helping Alex to realize that he wasn’t alone. There were people like him. People with AIDS, and he didn’t have to die thinking he was alone. 

The true reason was Alexander Hamilton was just inherently selfish. He didn’t care what others thought of him. He never did. He’d continue to do the things he wanted, whether they were right or wrong, because he _could_. He could, and they felt so fucking good in the moment. He ran away to be with the one person who got that side of him. Maria Reynolds. She was the one who fueled his selfish behavior, made him feel like a god under the sheets they shared. 

The two of them met during Alex’s sophomore year of high school. He was still a scrawny pubescent kid with nothing to show for himself in America, and she was a beautiful vixen from Alphabet city. They melted together like water and oil, always fighting and bickering. She wanted him to drop out of high school and be her partner in crime. He wanted her to just be there on the sidelines for when he needed her, just a ragdoll to toss aside in his toy chest like everyone else Alex knew. The only time they both agreed with each other was when they were shooting up, high as a kite. Even to this day, they still talked, still stuck one needle in both their arms. Maria would let Alex vent about John, about how John could never come to terms with being homosexual, even at this late stage in life, with three boyfriends to boot. He complained about Lafayette and how sometimes he was too nosy for his own good. He told her about Hercules, how he had turned into a helicopter parent sort of person instead of the loving boyfriend Alex _needed_ , and then everything just sort of... floated away. 

Sometimes they’d have sex, because they were both infected anyways, so transmitting was nothing either of them were afraid of. Alex wouldn’t touch his other partners the way he touched Maria, and he thought that was funny. He’d done much crueler things to them than give them AIDS. The sex they had wasn’t soft and gentle, rather all teeth and angles and roughness. There was nothing intimate to Alex about this... thing he had with Maria.

“Alex.” A soft voice sounded far away, and Alex opened his eyes. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he probably had. Alex never really slept for more than two, three hours at most every night. Hercules was above him, a small frown etched onto his face. “Are you okay? You seem a little pale.” 

Alex rolled his eyes, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Fine. Why’re you here?” 

“Oh, uh, I hit overtime so the boss gave me an hour lunch. Thought I’d drop by and make you something to eat.” 

“Oh, great,” The annoyed tone in Alex’s voice could not be dismayed. “Potatoes for lunch. A fucking dream come true.”

“Just because I’m from Ireland doesn’t mean all I know how to do is various potato dishes. Don’t put stereotypes on me. I actually made you a grilled cheese.” Hercules gestured to a blue plate on the coffee table. Triangle shapes of toasted bread lay on top of it. Alex’s mouth watered at the sight of it, but Hercules grabbed the plate and started getting up. “But if you _really want_ potatoes, I _guess_ this’ll just have to go down the garbage disposal.” 

“No! No, I mean,” Hercules sat down at Alex’s protest, and he quickly grabbed the plate, licking his lips once before sinking into the sandwich. “This is okay, I guess.” They sat in silence as they ate, and Alex only paused his ravenous cravings to wrap a blanket around his thin, shaking frame. He had hoped Hercules wouldn’t notice his state, but, as evidenced by the worried tone in his voice and the way he wrinkled his forehead, Alex knew his cover was likely blown.

The last time he had a dose of heroin was two days ago. Alex thought he could handle it. He thought he could handle not going another week or two without it, because he had done it before, when he came home for Christmas. There was the withdrawal that time as well, two weeks of violent flu and constantly debating over whether or not to take him to a rehab center, but Alex was determined to stay away from the medical field if at all possible. At times, he couldn’t remember his own name, and the paranoia he felt due to the hallucinations caused major meltdowns for the entire household. Alex foolishly thought that was the worst of it, that it wouldn’t happen again because he thought his body was smart enough to not repeat offenses.

In a way, it was.

This withdrawal session was different. It didn’t smack him in the gut like a wave, rather lapped at his feet, teasing him slightly. It began yesterday, when he had snapped at Hercules for changing the channel, and in his irritation he had smashed a cup. He was also more sleepy, barely able to focus on a task when his eyelids drooped every five seconds, and the hunger that plagued him was incorrigible. On top of that, he was a shaking, sweaty mess of mass proportions.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Hercules asked once more. His tone was cautious, but Alex didn’t care. 

“God! Jesus fucking Christ! I’m _fine_ , Hercules!” He bursted out none too kindly. Alex started his boyfriend, who was a deer caught in the headlights. “Go away! You’re such a _fucking nag!”_  

“I just... wanted to know you were okay.” Hercules’ voice was soft and quiet, the ice to Alex’s fire. He was the petals on a velvety rose, whereas Alex was the ugly, misshapen, prickly thorns that adorned him. They could never be together, never truly touch, because Alex just tore holes into everything. “I worry about you. A lot. You seem sicker, and you skipped your doctor’s appointment last week. I know. Lafayette told me. I thought you were getting better, Alexander.” 

“I can’t get better.” 

Alex saw Hercules curl up his fist and lift it slightly. He was debating saying something or not. Eventually, he put his fist down. 

“I thought you were getting better,” he repeated. Alex rolled his eyes, standing up. He swayed slightly, a slight headrush weakening him for a slight moment before he retained what little strength he had. 

“You’re such a coward, Hercules Mulligan. I don’t know why I ever agreed to date you. I know what you wanted to say. You wanted to say: You _can_ get better, you just don’t _want_ to get better. That’s what you should’ve said. But you didn’t, because you’re a fucking chicken-shit. Why are you like this? Why can’t you be more like Lafayette? I mean, the guy hates me, but I gotta give him props because he doesn’t sugar-coat his feelings. He tells me I’m an abusive person. He tells me he wishes he had enough money to move away from here, because he can’t stand the sight of me. He tells me _nothing_ I do will change _anything_ between us. And I respect him for it. But you? Nah. I can’t get behind anything you say. You’re a coward, and I _despise cowards_.” 

Alex spit on Hercules’ leather shoe and then stormed into his bedroom, locking the door and falling onto the bed. His body shook with tremors, and he gasped for air as he convulsed, reaching for his phone. After many failed attempts, he unlocked his phone and constructed a message. 

 **a:** need hit. come now. 

The reply came almost as soon as he had hit send. 

 **m:** where do u want me to enter from

 **a:** fire escape. how much?

 **m:** we’ll figure out prices when i’m there 

While Alex was waiting, he curled up into a ball and lost his mind. His shaky breathing turned into hyperventilation, burdened with the thought of his actions. What if Hercules came in during the next few hours? What if he told Lafayette and John about Alex’s outburst? What if all three of his boyfriends left him because he couldn’t get his act together? There was a tightness around his arm. He flinched. Was that the police? What if he was deported?  What if he ended up on the streets again, like his early days in Nevis? What if-? 

“Shhh, Alex, shhh,” A silky voice slowly pulled him out of his anxious delirium. Alex opened his eyes, realized he was still in the bedroom, but Maria Reynolds was holding him. He remembered she was never really that far away from him. She had abandonment issues just like everyone else Alex knew, and she couldn’t stand to never be near him. They imprinted on each other at a young age, and with such reckless decisions on both their ends, Alex thought they were a perfect fit, expect, he wanted to be someone and do something, whereas Maria was content with what she had in front of her. That was why they could never truly work out. “It’s okay, Maria’s here. Maria’s gonna make it all better.” 

“M-M-missed i-it.” Alex stuttered out, the shaking of his body still having complete control over him. 

“I know, honey, I know. I bought you a pretty high dosage today; thought you could need it.” Alex vaguely saw Maria flick his right arm, but there was no feeling attached to it. He realized the tightness around his arm hadn’t been the police at all, but a thick rubber band around his elbow to make his forearm numb. “Shh, stop shaking, honey. I can’t find your vein if you continue to squirm around.” Alex slowed his breathing, closed his eyes again, and felt something poke at his arm. Almost instantly the shaking stopped, and, for a moment, everything was clear. 

His head was in Maria’s lap, dark hair mingling with the red folds of her dress. Maria always wore red. One time Alex had asked her why she didn’t wear other colors, and Maria had never given him an answer, just shrugged and continued to skip down the street. The fabric was rough; Alex rubbed it between his fingers with mute curiosity. He wondered if Hercules had ever used something like this, something that felt like Alex’s heart.

“Do you like it?” Alex’s gaze tore away from the dress and up into Maria’s brown eyes. They were almost intoxicating, her eyes. They begged for lust and oozed sultriness, and Alex had given into them on more than one occasion. “The dress. Do you like it? I wore it just for you.”

“You always wear red.”

She frowned, not pleased with his answer. Alex never got women. He didn’t really get men either, but he could mingle with them better than the female crowd. “It’s new. I stole it from a bridal shop.” 

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to look beautiful for you!” Alex felt her hit his left arm, and he flinched. “You’re such a jerk, Alex!” Then his head was suddenly off her lap, and the warmth that enveloped him was gone.

“Sorry.” 

“No you’re not.” 

That was true. Alex didn’t think he had been sorry for anything in his life. He hadn’t been sorry when he broke John’s arm four years ago. He hadn’t been sorry when he lied to Hercules about not doing drugs again. He hadn’t been sorry when he left his older brother on Nevis. He knew he wasn’t sorry about this, either. Alex didn’t see the point. You were born, you lived for a little bit, and chances were you lived a boring life. Got a job. Got married. Had a few kids. Maybe contract AIDS at age 15 and live for a couple of years before inevitably dying. Dying. Death. That was the endgame. If you were born to just _die_ , what was the point in apologizing for your so called ‘mistakes’? Alex stared at the ceiling, licking his lips every so often. He wanted someone to kiss them, to take away the tingling sensation he felt.

Alex sat up, as if commanded by some omnipotent force, like a puppet on a string, and kissed Maria. She didn’t fight back; Alex didn’t expect her to. Alex expected her to be reliable and compliant towards him, and she had never once deviated from those standards. Her lips tasted metallic and sour, and if Alex wasn’t high, probably would have stopped. The taste of Maria was _nothing_ like the taste of John, Lafayette, or Hercules. They tasted soft and warm, like a slow fire on a winter night. Maria tasted foreign and disturbing. But Alex didn’t stop, instead, he used his uncomfortableness to push on, to slide Maria against the headboard. She let him, opened her legs once they found stable ground on the mattress, and Alex pressed a knee between them. He felt her hands go up into his hair, messing it up and sending shivers down his spine, furthering his exploration of her body. 

Maria was never familiar to him. Her body always felt alien, like two puzzle pieces that were wrong for each other, but a child was determined to get them to fit. Alex was never clumsy or awkward when it came to sex, but he never found the right flow with Maria. He was never satisfied afterwards, just more or less empty. He traced the curvature of her breasts, which emitted a breathy shudder from Maria. But instead of letting Alex further his advances, she pulled away completely. 

“S-Stop. Alex. We gotta stop.”

“Fuck off. We’re not stopping.” Alex pushed towards her body again, but Maria dodged him. Alex frowned, growling a little, letting his animalistic urges take over. “You whore. Stop fucking around. You haven’t had a problem with my cock inside you before, What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

“No, not tonight. Not- Not tonight! Nothing is wrong with me, Alex, I just don’t want to have sex tonight!.” Again, Alex lunged towards her, grabbing her supple breasts, pressing his hot, wet lips against hers. Heroin made him strong. Strong and numb to the outside world. “Stop! Stop! Why aren’t you listening to me?!” Maria screamed, and Alex could feel her flail her limbs around. 

“Shut up, you stupid fucking bitch. You want me. I _know_ you want me.” 

“Get _off!_ ” Suddenly, Alex was on the floor, the impact his head had taken was forceful enough that half of his vision was darkened. Maria was screaming something as she fled out the window, but Alex didn’t absorb the words. His body still tingled, his cock still half hard with lustful intentions. He focused on that for a while, let the feeling of his pounding head and his record high carry him off like a ship on the ocean. 

The sun revolved around him like a timelapse, taking hours where there should have been seconds, and replacing memories with untouchable sensations. The sound of his laughter, bones shifting as he rolled on the wood, the fiery hue of the horizon on the skyline that _had a name_ but Alex couldn’t think of it. He could think of singular words, but they never amounted to a full thought. 

_Pancakes._

_Jerusalem._

_Hemingway._

_Sewage._

_Wolves._  

He could smell something foul and something stale near him. Alex lifted his arm up and prodded at the needle marks. They hurt, more than usual, and had taken on a cherry red shade. He made a few ‘ooh’ noises whenever he poked the scabs. 

Things continued like this for a while, and Alex took his time coming back down from his high. By the time he came back to reality, it was dark outside. His body - especially his head - ached with annoying prominence. _Pay attention to me,_ it cried like a toddler, and Alex was forced to oblige. With no balance whatsoever, he hoisted himself up using the end-table. 

What little of the bed Alex could make out was a mess, and he knew that if Lafayette came in here and saw the state of the comforter he’d be furious. But Alex didn’t care before and he didn’t care now. High or not, his lack of concern was always present. He grabbed a blanket from the little stack at the bottom of the bed and headed out towards the living room. 

The dishes on the table from the afternoon lunch were cleared, and in its place were two pairs of socked feet. Alex looked at the couch and saw Hercules and Lafayette sitting there. They were holding each other loosely, Hercules carding his fingers through Lafayette’s hair. It was down tonight. Alex noticed a dark lipstick stain on Hercules’ jawline, no doubt a ‘welcome home, honey’ sort of gesture. He never got one of those. The pair was focused on the tv a few feet in front of them, some sort of home design sort of show, no doubt. Alex cleared his throat to announce his presence, but neither of the men paid any attention to him. He plopped down next to Hercules, who shoved him off onto the ground. 

“Nope,” Was all Hercules uttered. 

Alex got up and tried again. The same thing happened. 

“ _No._ ” 

Again?

“Stop.” This time it was Lafayette’s voice, which caught Alex’s attention. “We don’t want you here right now, Alexander. You need to go away and give Hercules his space.”

“But this is my apartment too. You can’t just... tell me I can’t be here.”

A laptop was offered by Lafayette, and Alex took it, confused and dumbfounded. “You can stay in the bedroom. If you’re hungry, grab something to eat from the kitchen. But don’t stay here and try to apologize. You’ve done enough damage today.”   

“I-”

“Go!” Alex looked at Lafayette’s face, and even if he was still facing the tv, his face was clearly contorted in anger, bottom lip jutted out, eyebrows furrowed. His collarbone rapidly moving up and down.

Alex turned to Hercules, who was playing with the hem of his shirt. “Is this what you want?” 

“Well, I...”

“Is this what you want?” Alex repeated again, taking on an authoritative sort of sound to his voice. “Because I can leave. I can take my shit and walk the fuck out. I’m sure Jack would be sympathetic to my cause.” 

“Don’t bring John into this!” Lafayette interjected, then whispered into Hercules’ ear. “Stay strong, dearest one. You’re doing so good. I love you.” 

Alex frowned, finally piecing together what all was happening. “Hey, no! You don’t get to tell Hercules what he wants! He doesn’t want me to stay away from him, you do! He knows I only said those things because I love him! They’re true, and I tell my boyfriends the truth!” 

“ _Dieu!”_ Lafayette screamed, jolting forward and putting his forearms on his knees. “You don’t _get it_ , do you, Alexander? You’re abusive! You’re the literal scum of the earth, and I hate what you’ve done to us! Hercules called me at work today because he was having a _mental breakdown_ ! And why? Because of what you said! He’s not a coward, Alexander! He’s the bravest man I know because despite _everything_ you’ve done to him, he _still_ gives you a bath, and he _still_ , without fail, cooks you your favorite chicken when you’re feeling shitty and tells you it’s going to be okay. He still loves you unconditionally and you just fucking.... You take his love and you shred it up and spit on it, and then throw it out the fucking window! It took me _ages_ to get him to calm down! You’re such a fucking asshole!”

Without saying another word, Alex got up and retreated into the bedroom.

He opened up his laptop and typed in his password, then clicked on the video chatting icon and John’s name. He rocked back in forth, soaking in seething anger and blackness as the computer rang. After about thirty seconds, A pixilated John Laurens came on the screen. His dazzling smile did little to cool Alex’s burning soul. “Hey, baby girl. I can see you haven’t killed yourself.” 

“I”m fucking about to.” 

“You sick or something? What’s wrong?”

“Fucking Lafayette. He went berserk because Hercules and I had an argument today, and now I’m _banished_ to the bedroom for all eternity.” 

“Well, I doubt the last part. They’re going to need to take a shower at some point, and you’re going to need to eat.”

“The argument was so stupid!” Alex ignored John, continuing to rant. He grabbed his hair in frustration. “I just told Hercules he was a coward because he didn’t speak his mind! That was all! I only said it ‘cause it’s true! I’m _so sorry_ that they can’t take fucking criticism!” 

“Y’know,” John’s southern drawl was prominent through the static audio, and he leaned forward a little, forearms resting on his knees. Alex noticed that John’s hair was tied back, only a few stray curls obscuring his smooth forehead. “Sometimes the things you say don’t have the intended effect. You mean well, honey, but Lafayette and Hercules don’t really respond to words the way that I do. They’re cut from a different cloth.” 

“Why are you different? Why aren’t you a pussy like they are?”

Alex saw John try to contain a smile, opting to let the corners of his mouth twitch and his eyes do a dramatic roll. “Please don’t call my boyfriends ‘pussies’.” 

“That’s what they fucking are.” 

“Alexander.” 

“Fine. Why aren’t you as... _sensitive_... as they are?” 

John leaned back against the small couch he was sitting on. Through the limited view of the camera, Alex saw a sight of dark trees against panes of square glass. He’d never been inside the Laurens’ estate, opting to not associate with homophobes like Henry, but did not doubt they couldn’t afford a sunroom. It was windy in South Carolina; the trees outside were waving back and forth, greeting Alex with a shadowed hand.

“Henry abuses me. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I’m used to it. They’re not.”

“Are you saying I’m abusive? I’m _not_ abusive.”

That elicited a snort from John. “Yeah, _okay_ , sweetheart, whatever you say.” 

Alex growled slowly under his breath, he could feel the vibrating sensation deep in his chest. “Fuck you,” he grunted, and closed the laptop screen, tossing it across the bed. He sighed and laid across the bed, head tipped down so he was looking at the wooden floor below him. There was an opaque, yellowish type mass on the floor, and Alex was confused for a moment until he remembered some parts of a fleeting memory from his high. 

Red. Screams. Pleasure. 

In Alex’s failed attempt to fuck Maria, he had ejaculated all over the floor when she left.

“When the hell was I that starved?”

Alex sighed once more, stood up, and slipped on a long sleeve t-shirt before heading into the bathroom and getting a warm washcloth to clean up his mess. When he was done, he threw the small towel into the dirty clothes hamper and laid on the bed again, curling in on himself like a wounded animal. Alex shut his eyes and exhaustion finally pulled him under.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh, it's another chapter! this one is laf/alex focused! keep those comments and kudos coming! 
> 
> trigger warnings for chapter two:  
> \- mentions of drug use  
> \- mentions of drug abuse  
> \- vomiting  
> \- mentions of physical abuse

“We have to go look for him,” John stated for the fifth time that day. Up until this point, he’d been staring out the window, looking down below at the New York City streets, watching the cars flit by like fireflies. But he got up, pacing like a puma in a cage, ringing his hands nervously. “It’s getting dark soon. What if he got jumped? Alex doesn’t know how to defend himself as well as he thinks he does, Laf, and I’m worried.” 

Lafayette sighed, putting down the newspaper he was reading. It’s dated back a week, because they’re not subscribed, Hercules just picked this up for clues on Alexander, and, surprise, there wasn’t any. So now Lafayette was just reading it over and over again like a mantra going off in his head, and he could tell you which stocks were doing well without even looking, and he could tell you about the weather last Wednesday, but he could not tell you where his wayward boyfriend had run off to. “John, we already went out two times today. I’m tired. Besides, if he got jumped, the police would notify us.” 

“Not necessarily. Not if no one finds him. He could be bleeding to death in an alleyway, and we wouldn’t know.”

He wished Hercules was home because Hercules always knew what to do. When Alexander had disappeared, Lafayette had dissolved into a state of panic. Alexander was _gone_ . Alexander was _missing_ , and New York was not the safest place for a person to be alone, especially Alexander. That first night, for hours upon end, Lafayette was a crying mess in the corner, barely even mumbling, and when he _did_ mumble, it was in French. Hercules arrived home from his studio after thirty minutes, and was able to coax Lafayette into a more stable state of mind, and all three of them concocted a plan to find their lost love. 

The plan was simple, and that’s what probably hurt John the most. But Lafayette liked simple things. His culture was simple. His life was simple. His hairstyle was simple. The only thing complicated in his life was Alexander, and Lafayette _loved it._ He loved Alexander and his intricate mind. He loved how he questioned everything and uprooted Lafayette’s life. Alexander was an adventurer, and although Lafayette was brave and clever, it took Alexander to put a spark inside of him. 

“Laf. Please. Herc won’t be back for another two hours. It’ll be black outside by then.” John had made his way in front of Lafayette, and it was almost impossible to say no to the basset hound eyes he was currently displaying. Nevertheless, Lafayette persisted. If Hercules said that this was how to get Alexander back, then that is what he was going to do. Lafayette was always a soldier, after all. Following was what he knew best. 

“That’s not what the plan says to do.” 

“Fuck the plan! This is _Alexander!_ Your _boyfriend_ ? Or have you forgotten about him that fucking easily?! You shouldn’t be reading the paper for the millionth time, dumbass! You _know_ there’s no mention of Alex anywhere in that fucking shit! Why aren’t you more concerned with finding him?!” 

“I _am._ But I’m also not letting Alexander consume me. He doesn’t invade my entire mind the moment I wake up. But you _let him!_ You’ve always let him control you! Even when he’s gone you let him control you, John!” 

“At least I care enough to let him in!” John was pushing it, and Lafayette knew he was saying these things just to get a rise out of him. Of course Lafayette cared. He loved Alexander with every beat of his heart. He loved how Alexander, when he wanted to, could be the most gentle creature he’d ever known, stroking back Lafayette’s hair, or rubbing small circles into his thumb when they walked together in Central Park. He loved the other side of him too, who was rough in bed, leaving Lafayette with scores down his back in the morning. He loved the numerous hickies Alexander gave him when they were watching wrestling, telling Lafayette to show them off like a gold medal, because he was _Alexander’s_ and no one else's.

But everyone Lafayette has ever known has had a short fuse. Himself included.

So he threw the newspaper to the right of him none too gently and stood up. He towered over John, but the other man didn’t shrink back at the menacing aura Lafayette was producing. “You’re a piece of merde, John Laurens. You don’t get to pull that fucking card on me. _Never_ pull that card on me or I will put you in the fucking ground, I swear to _God_. Alexander’s disappearance is hard for everyone. Myself included. Do not think for a _second_ that I do not want Alexander home. Safe. In my arms. Do I make myself clear?" 

“Crystal,” John growled.

Lafayette got off the couch and grabbed his coat from the open closet. Their apartment had kind of gone to shit as of recently, clothes thrown about the rooms. He turned back to John, who still hadn’t moved. His fists were clenched, though, and he was breathing heavy. John and Alexander were a lot alike. They both had addictive personalities, they both were hard workers, and they both had Lafayette and Hercules for their only family. But Lafayette realized that they differed at this very moment. Had it been Alexander in John’s place, Lafayette would have a broken mandible by now.

“I’ll go look for him,” his voice was softer now, but not apologetic. “please stay here. I’ll text you with any developments.”

“Fine.” John’s voice still had an acidic tone to it, and Lafayette shot him a look. John finally flinched. “Th-thank you. _Merci._ I know you didn’t have to do this. It means a lot.” 

“Yeah. I know. _De rien_ **_._ ** _Au revoir._ ” 

The anger left Lafayette as soon as he closed the door. He walked down to the lobby, and then out into the street. What John had failed to tell him was that it was already pretty much dark outside, which made Lafayette’s chances minimal at best. Not that he thought he was going to find Alexander anyways. His lost love was an enigma, and if he didn’t want to be found you wouldn’t be able to find him. Even still, Lafayette tried all the usual places, keeping a brisk pace while doing so. He walked everywhere, because he didn’t want to miss alleyways, and because they were too poor to afford a taxi. 

He stopped by their local bar, giving them another missing person’s flyer from his pocket when he saw their old one had been taken down. He asked any of the regulars if they’d seen Alexander, but they all whispered no into their drinks, so Lafayette left. He walked to a nearby homeless shelter next, repeating the same process and yielding the same results.

Hercules called him halfway through his futile search. 

“Where are you?” Hercules asked, voice rushed and hurried. 

“I’m... Looking for Alexander? Did John not tell you that?” 

He heard Hercules breathe out through his nose. “Oh, well, y’know, I’m sure he would have _loved_ to, except he’s as high as a kite right now, so the only words he feels like mentioning are ‘cotton’, ‘candy’, and ‘cats’ in that order, and then laughing hysterically about it.” 

Typical. 

“Look, don’t get all pissy with me. John was the one who screamed at me to go look for Alexander in the first place. I would have been happier at home, waiting for you.” 

“I’m not-” Hercules had started to take that tone of voice again. The tone of voice that lit Lafayette up like a berserk firecracker, but he stopped himself, talking instead in a calm voice. “I’m not pissed at you. I was just worried. I lost one boyfriend. I don’t want to lose another.” 

“Yeah, well, you won’t. I’m gonna go another block down to the police station, see if they have anything on Alexander, and then head back home.”

“Text me when you’re there and when you’re heading back, please. It would put my mind in a better place.” 

Lafayette smiled, caressing the phone with both hands. Its artificial warmth was nothing compared to the real thing, but for just a fraction of a second he could feel Hercules’ fingertips on his cheek, their foreheads touching. Even imagining one of his boyfriends beside him helped him forget about the blustering winter winds around him. “Of course. You’ll berate John for me, won’t you, dearest one?” 

“Nothing would please me more, sweetheart of mine.”

The line disconnected with a click, leaving only the sounds of a very busy metropolis. Lafayette continued down the street for a while until he reached the police station in the precinct. He texted Hercules as promised, and went inside to ask the secretary at the desk if she had any leads on the open missing persons' case. 

“Name?”

“Oh, uh, Lafayette? That’s my last name. Gilbert is my first. I’ve got a bunch in the middle, but-” 

“Not _your_  name. The missing person’s name.”

“Oh! Alexander Hamilton.” 

The secretary duly typed something into the computer, and they both waited in silence as the page loaded. Lafayette desperately wanted them to say that Alexander was in the back in a cell, waiting to be bailed out because he fought with some poor guy at the grocery store. But then he remembered the non-existent weight in his pocket and realized that none of them could probably make bail anyway, save for John, and even then he’d have to go crawling back to his father.

But it still stood that Lafayette wanted Alexander home. It wasn’t _home_ without him. There was an emptiness in their apartment. There was the dip in the bed no one dared to lay in because they wanted it perfect for when Alexander came home. There was an emptiness when they all ate dinner, _if_ they ate dinner, because they had to stare at all the knife marks in the table from when Alexander used all three of them as target practice. It wasn’t a pleasant memory, but a memory nonetheless, and it still hurt Lafayette. It hurt him to know that Alexander wasn’t in his arms, and they weren’t giggling about how stupid American culture could be sometimes. 

“There’s nothing.” 

“Are... Are you sure?” His throat felt like sandpaper. Even if he went out knowing it was a lost cause, that they wouldn’t find anything, it was still a crushing disappointment. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” It really wasn’t, but Lafayette couldn’t do anything. “Thanks for checking. Have a nice night."

He texted Hercules as he went out the door, head hung with defeat and a little more hollow inside. He wanted to feel Alexander’s hair between his fingers. He wanted to feel Alexander’s lips against his. He wanted to hear his cheerful laugh and see him smile, from his lips to his eyes. He wanted Alexander to say that he just got lost, that he didn’t mean to worry them for a week straight, but New York was just so _big_ and there was a lot of things that sidetracked him. 

But, as always, what Lafayette wanted and what Lafayette got were two very different things. 

The city seemed extensive now that everything was lost to him. The vendors were closing up shop for the night, leaving the streets with more grey than Lafayette knew how to deal with. The blackened sky above him seemed to be vast and eternal, like there was no end in sight for the burning night. Lafayette trudged along, tugging his coat closer to him to feel a resemblance of touch. He needed Alexander. Even the soldier needed real flesh instead of ragged machinery in their hands. He just longed for Alexander’s hand in his. Lafayette wiped his eyes, willing the tears not to spill down his face.

Even if he knew hope was lost, he still kept looking down alleyways, praying that he would find something. Maybe one of Alexander’s hair ribbons. It would’ve had to have been Alexander’s, because he despised regular hair ties, saying they ratted up his hair and made it impossible to curl. He didn’t find that, but he _did_ find a very slender shape in one of the alleyways. Lafayette gasped a little, then sprinted down to where the figure was slumped against the wall. 

“Alex... Alexander?” He whispered, shaking him. It had to have been his lost love. His enigma. His Alexander. Though his skin was an ashen grey and stretched over his brittle bones, Lafayette still saw the high cheekbones. His eyes were closed, some of his dark hair obscuring Lafayette’s vision of them. He moved them out of his face, then continued to shake him. “Hey, _mon cheri_ , wake up. It’s me. It’s Lafayette. Wake up, we’ve gotta go home. John and Hercules want to see you. Come on. Open your eyes.”

Lafayette passed his thumb underneath Alexander’s eyelids, and felt the bones crumble into dust upon touch. He screamed and threw his legs in front of him in an effort to shuffle backward, but in doing so he’d kicked Alexander’s chest, which caved in upon itself. Bugs flew out of the empty cavity, leaving the corpse and coming towards Lafayette. They felt like cold beads of water traveling up his body, and Lafayette just kept screaming. Screaming, screaming, screaming, and no one was coming to help him. Hercules and John would think he turned into Alexander. Lafayette kept screaming. 

Everything was silent except for a strangled sound Lafayette made as he sat up in bed. His hand was over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet, and he was breathing heavily. He was fine. He was okay. It was just a bad dream. The room was completely dark, but Lafayette knew he was in their apartment, because Hercules left the bathroom light on and the door open a smidge, just in case someone had night terrors. Lafayette was grateful Hercules still thought of everything, even if he was swamped at work with the spring wedding season springing into action. The left side of him was empty, but to the right of him Lafayette saw Alexander, curled up and shaking in his sleep. Lafayette did not sigh in relief. He didn’t care if Alexander was here. He didn’t know why Alexander still slept with him. Still, even if the deep affectionate love had left his body, Lafayette still somewhat cared for Alexander’s wellbeing, so he touched his shoulder.

It was burning. And cold with sweat. Like the bugs that had flooded into his mouth not a moment ago. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Lafayette whispered, and now he shook Alexander, and he hoped to god his bones did not crumble into dust underneath his fingers. “Alexander. Wake up. Wake up _now_. Damn it, Alexander!”

“M-m....mama?”

“What?" 

“M-Mama...” 

“No, shit, Alexander.” Lafayette forced him to sit up, and he peeled open his eyelids. Even in the dim light, Lafayette could clearly see how feverish Alexander was. His brown eyes were glassy and unfocused, and sweat rolled down his waxy skin like rivers. He was clearly delirious, out of his mind with the wild fever. “I’m not your mother.”

“‘M s-sorry... m-m-mama. ‘T’s col’...” 

“Wrong. It’s hot. You’re hot. You’re running a fever.” Talking to him rationally was going to get him nowhere, Lafayette decided, so he helped Alexander to his feet, and practically dragged him to the bathroom, then started the bath with cold water. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.” Lafayette leaned Alexander against the sink, and then went back to get his phone and a thermometer, rapidly texting Hercules after pushing the thermometer into Alexander’s mouth. 

**Lafayette:** i woke up and alexander has a high fever.

**Lafayette:** 104.2

**Lafayette:** hercules what do i do??

**Lafayette:** it’s eleven at night. come home. now.

He put his phone on the sink counter with a huff, and heard it clatter in the sink, which made Alexander start moaning. He smoothed down his sweaty hair. “Shh, Alexander. It’s okay. It’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay, and even if Lafayette may not have loved or respected Alexander anymore, that longing to have his friend back made him want to reassure the sick man. He made Alexander raise his arms as he peeled off the tank top that was already stuck to his chest. There was no hole. There were no bugs. This was not a nightmare, but, yet, it seemed to be. 

After taking off the rest of Alexander’s clothes, Lafayette eased him into the cold water, and had it not been for his quick hands holding him up, Alexander would have cracked his head open on the edge of the tub. He took a washcloth and started rubbing down Alexander. In the bright light, he could see all the scratches Alexander had on his body. Most were from his fights with John, and some deep ones were from run-ins with the wrong drug dealer. There were scabbed over and scarred dots from where Alexander shot up. Lafayette lifted up Alexander’s left arm, seeing seven angry red dots, like little needle marks. Angry red lines were traveling up his arm, like tendrils of ivy crawling up a castle wall. 

He was still shooting up. After all they had been through, after everything Alexander promised them... He was still doing heroin. Lafayette wondered if he ever really stopped.

“Alexander!” His mouth is wide open, but nothing else comes out. It wouldn’t matter. Even if Alexander was right as rain and fever didn’t make his cheeks a dark red, it wouldn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered in the past, so Lafayette knows it wouldn’t matter now.

Lafayette left Alexander unattended while he grabbed his phone again. He didn’t want to accidentally glance at the needle marks in Alexander’s arms and be reminded of fatality. He didn’t want to watch his ex fade away without making his mark on the world. It’s more for Alexander’s sake, though, because Lafayette was just content to be brave for himself. He was content to do good in the world not because children would learn about him fifteen years down the line, but because he couldn't get enough of the warm feeling in his chest. Alexander had always been selfish, and would continue to be selfish, but if his goal was to write himself into history, then Lafayette hoped he achieved it. 

In the couple of minutes that the messages sent, there had been no indication that Hercules had even picked up his phone, which sent Lafayette into a curling pit of despair. He decided to scroll through the photos on his camera app until he saw Alexander shiver.

But instead of shivering, Alexander just threw up.

Luckily, Lafayette noticed the noises prior, and put a trash can in his lap. He brushed away Alexander’s long, dark hair as he expelled his stomach content. Alexander really looked sick, Lafayette noted. Even with his eyes tightly shut, he could clearly see the bags under Alexander’s eyes, and his skin was discolored to the color of old parchment. They stayed like this for a while, until Alexander pushed the trash can away and took a few deep, shaky breath. 

“Oh, fuck. That’s not good.”

Under normal circumstances, Lafayette would probably just shove fever reducers into Alexander’s mouth and then have him sleep. But this _wasn’t under normal circumstances,_ because Alexander had _AIDS_ , and any sickness attacked his immune system like atomic bombs, so blood was _not a good sign_. Alexander shivered like crazy, teeth chattering, and Lafayette held him close, trying to keep him together. Lafayette was the glue. Lafayette was the glue, and Alexander was the china he had to adhere to. He couldn’t let Alexander break apart. 

“Mama...” Alexander croaked out roughly, weakly pawing at Lafayette’s nightshirt as he stood up. “”T’s we’... where’s papa? ‘N James?”

“I’m _not_ your mother, Alexander,” Lafayette gritted out. It came out much harsher than he intended, but he didn’t apologize for it as he grabbed one of the towels from the rack. “You’re throwing up blood. Your fever is at one hundred and four, and Hercules isn’t here to make the better judgment, I am. So get up, we’re going to the hospital.”

Alexander screamed when Lafayette bent down to help him up, trying to scoot away from him. “No! Don’ wanna!”

“You don’t have a choice.” Lafayette pulled him out of the tub, securely wrapping the towel around his shoulders. It worried him that Alexander was so thin. You could see his ribcage, and his cheekbones stuck out like cliffs on his face. “You had a choice when you decided to use heroin, but you weren’t thinking about the consequences your actions have on you later on. Stay here.”  Lafayette went back into the dark bedroom and pulled out a sweatshirt and sweatpants, returning to the bathroom to see Alexander dry heaving over the floor. Instantly, Lafayette moved the trash can under his face, and Alexander threw up again. Lafayette got out his phone and pulled up the lyft app, tapping in the information they needed. By the time Lafayette had managed to get Alexander into his clothes, and by the time Alexander stopped throwing up, their driver was outside their apartment building.

For the entire time going down the elevator, Lafayette was rapidly looking up Alexander’s symptoms, trying to quell his anxious mind, and all the while Alexander was moaning and lolling his head back and forth. They met up with their lyft driver, and with a little coaxing from Lafayette, Alexander got into the backseat and they were on their way to the nearest hospital. 

Lafayette called Hercules while they were stopped at an intersection, and he picked up on the third ring. 

“Laf? What’s up, sweetheart?” 

“I’m taking Alexander to the hospital. Did you not read your texts?”

“I, uh, didn’t know you were trying to contact me. My phone’s on silent so I don’t get distracted.” 

“Oh, well... yeah, Alexander’s pretty sick. Threw up, and- Shit! Alexander, Alex _ander_ , focus on me. Ground yourself. Look at my nose. That’s it. Sorry, Herc. He looked like he was going to puke again.”

“It’s okay.” Lafayette would be a fool to not notice the quavering in his boyfriend’s voice. Everyone was a little shaken up whenever Alexander went to the hospital, even for checkups, but it seemed like Hercules was affected the most. Whenever Alexander came home with a doctor’s note and Lafayette was laying on top of Hercules on the couch, he heard his heartbeat quicken with anxiety until Hercules heard something along the lines of ‘Nothing’s changed.’ “Do you want me to meet you there?” 

“That would be nice.” 

“Does John know?”

“Not yet. I was planning on calling him once I was alone.”   

“Okay. Okay. Hey, Laf? I love you. You’re doing a great thing right now. I know Alex has hurt you in the past, but you’re such a good person for taking care of him. I’m so sorry for not being there. I should have looked at my phone. I’ll be there as quick as I can. I love you so so much, Lafayette, sweetheart of mine. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Lafayette squeezed his eyes shut, and then squeezed out an “Okay.” The line disconnected, and he sat in the back supporting Alexander’s fevered weight and shaking frame. He wondered if telling Hercules about Alexander’s lie about not taking heroin during the phone call would have been a good idea, but instead settled for stroking Alexander’s sweaty black hair away from his forehead as the bright lights of the hospital came into view.


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi college is kicking my ass and so is my mental health.  
> this chapter is dedicated to becca, my editor, who tells me when nothing makes sense. 
> 
> trigger warnings for chapter three:  
> \- mentions of drug use  
> \- mentions of drug abuse  
> \- mentions of physical abuse  
> \- hospitals  
> \- mentions of verbal abuse

John sat on the porch of his childhood southern plantation, tapping his foot against the thinly cracked concrete, his head resting in his hands as he waited impatiently for the lyft he ordered to arrive. The suitcases he had packed for the family vacation now lay beside him, a constant reminder of where he came from and what he lost. He was supposed to stay with his family for another six days, to take care of his ailing father and to make sure the family records and wills were in order. But Lafayette had called a few hours prior, and John picked the phone up in haste during dinner.

“Hello?” He spoke quietly into the phone, a constant tiredness creeping up into voice. Even if his father wasn’t as strong anymore, he still had a stubborn mind connected to a river of a mouth. Anything the man thought was of importance, he’d spew out without a moment's notice. Tonight’s topic had, up until this point, been about the preservation of boy scouts. Henry had been adamant that John had joined as a small child so he could be built into the image of a successful American man. Short, straight hair. Clear complexion. Good handshake, and a hearty laugh. But even from twelve years in the scouts, it was clear John Laurens lacked all of those traits. He tucked a sprig of brown hair behind his freckled ear, trying to hear over the static of the shitty reception.

“John? J-John? It’s Laf-fayette. Oh god... Oh god. Mon dieu.” The panic in his boyfriend’s voice was enough to wipe the domesticated smile off of John’s face, and he gripped the phone tighter to his ear.

“Honey? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Alexan...der. Al...exan...der.” John heard Lafayette cough and hiccup and sputter throughout the single word, and for a minute he feared that Alex had gone off the deep end; finally taking the ultimate step and murdering one of them.

“Okay. Alright. What about Alex? Take a few deep breaths, honey. Please, for me. Do this for me. Follow me.” John talked through breathing exercises he’d learned for anxiety a few years back, and eventually he could hear Lafayette’s breaths becoming more like a deep ocean wave crashing against the coast instead of short gulps of air. “I love you so, so much. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Alexander is in the... the hospital? And he’s in c-critical condition? And I don’t know what to do because I think he may have over...overdosed on heroin? And I’m f-freaking out because you’re not here with me, and neither is H-Hercules? They w-won’t let me in... They won’t let me see him. Alex-Alexander. They won’t let me see Alexander. I don’t know w-what’s wrong? Help.”

John closed his eyes and gripped the counter nearest him, and lowered himself into a nearby chair. He could hear the clink of glasses in the other room, the sliding of silver against china. He hated it. He hated being here, two hours away instead of two minutes away. There was a girl’s laugh - probably Elenor’s, because their father hadn’t taken away her lust for life like he had the others. John knows it’s because she looks exactly like his mother, and even though John’s got her eyes, it’s not enough. It’s not enough because he looks like his bastard uncle. He clenched his fist together, dug his nails into the palm of his hand so he could feel something real. None of this felt real.

“Do you want me to come home?”

“T’s fine.” Laf choked, and John’s heart smashed into a million pieces.

“It’s not fi-. Okay. Okay, next question. Does Alex need me?”

“Y-Yes. Oui.”

“Then I’ll be on a plane in two hours. I’ll see you in five.”

“O...Okay...”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, honey. Don’t ever think that I wouldn’t board a plane at a moment’s notice for any of you.” John hung up without further notice, and trudged into the dining room. His father sat at the head of the table, wiping his thickly bearded face with a napkin.

“Who was that?”

John shrugged, grabbing his plate and moving to clear himself from the table. “No one. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Where are you going? I haven’t excused you.” John stood to full height as Henry did the same. “And you’ll tell me who called my house during dinner time. I haven’t seen you all year. Can’t your faggot friends wait until you go back home? They need to respect their elders. Fucking rude and inconsiderate.”

“Jesus fuck-” John ran a hand over his face, groaning slightly. He did not want to get into another verbal altercation with Henry. “First of all, I’m not six anymore. You can’t tell me when the fuck I’m excused from the table-”

“It’s my house. It’s my table. When you’re here, I own you.” John scoffed at that sentence, and a cold laugh escaped from his cracked lips.

“Oh? Sorry. I thought that my mother, you know, your wife, bought this table? So, if you wanna be a technical dick about this, mom can tell me when I’m excused. And she’s dead, so. Also, fun fact, my so called ‘faggot friends’ are actually my wonderful boyfriends. One is in the hospital, and the other is having a massive panic attack. Sorry to cut this trip short, Henry, but I care more if Alexander dies than if you do.”

It felt good to leave the house with his father standing in the living room, mouth moving slightly up and down like a fish out of water. John chuckled as his eyes scanned the night sky. He could say he truly did not miss this house, with all of its ten bedrooms and eleven bathrooms. He did not miss the walls that were stained with forced labor. He did not miss the view out of his bedroom window; the fields that adorned the backdrop showed him stories with the wind, the stories of the slaves who ended in an unmarked grave and never got a story. Henry Laurens’ legacy was built on the back of his ancestors’ slaves. John’s didn’t have to be.

He glanced at his phone again, seeing the little dot of his driver move slowly towards his home, and he sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“Hey,” A whimsical voice said softly, and John turned a little to see his sister, Martha, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt.

“What are you doin’ out here, darlin’?” John spoke in his rarely used low southern drawl, prompting a smile out of her. She sat beside him, and he wrapped one arm around her, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance. “Despite being stuck here for five days, it feels like I haven’t seen you at all. How’ve you been, kid?”

Martha shrugged, John felt her learn her head on his shoulder. “I’m good. Better, when I’m with you. Dad is... Well, he’s dad. Overbearing and strict. As usual.”

John saw a few fireflies flit out from the curtain of trees in front of them. He didn’t miss the house, nor the history, but he missed Martha. He missed his little sister, his confidant, his second-in-command, the only person he could truly talk to about anything. Martha didn’t judge, she listened, and she told John what he needed to hear. He pulled her closer to him, wishing he could scoop her up and take her with him back to New York. “Does he hit you?”

“Once,” At that utterance, John’s grip on his leg tightened, but he felt Martha put a hand on his. “No, John. It’s okay. It was seven months ago.”

“Don’t say it’s okay. Hitting women isn’t okay. Hitting anybody, actually, isn’t okay.”

“But it’s okay when it comes to you?”

“That’s different. I’m an adult. I know what I can handle.”

“You’re twenty-four, John. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“What bullshit? I’m not giving you any bullshit, Martha.”

“I know Alex hits you.”

“How?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re not exactly oblique. You’re my brother, John. You don’t need to tell me something for me to know what’s happening. When we skype, I can see the dark bruises on your chin. You flinch whenever somebody raises their hand, even if it’s not towards you. So... So why do you stay with someone who doesn’t treat you like you deserve to be treated?!”

John hung his head, let his hands go limp and fall through his lap. Once, a very long time ago, after Alex had come home from being on the streets, he sat with his boyfriend as he wrote things down in his journal and asked himself the same question. He took a shuddering breath, not really wanting to tell his sister the truth. But it was Martha. If anyone were to understand, John knew it was going to be her.

“He’s my first. My first everything. It’s just easier to stay with him. Sure, Alex hits me, but not any more than Henry did. I can handle myself, and Alex only hits me out of love for me.”

“None of that matters. You’ve got two other boyfriends, don’t you? Why don’t you all just leave Alex? If he truly loved you, John, he would never put his hands on you.”

“Martha...” John finally looked up at his sister. Her eyes were like black beetles in the darkness, flecks of glowing silver dotted in from the star’s reflection. He rubbed his thumb over her slightly damp cheek, and then pulled her close against his chest.

Her tears formed puddles in John’s collarbones, cascading like waterfalls down his shirt. It wasn’t cleansing. The tears were made of worry and guilt, and they only tightened the already iron-like grip around John’s heart. A couple of seconds passed before Martha let out a small hiccup and pulled away.

“Do you understand how much you mean to me? You’re my big brother. You’re the one who is supposed to show me how to get away from all this shit. You’re not supposed to fall into the same hole you’ve always been in. You were the one who finally rose above your station and fucking did something with his life! I don’t know how I survived you leaving home for so long, but I did, because I knew you were doing something amazing and you got away from this abusive household. But then you do come home, and I see cracked lips and black eyes and a broken body. So I think to myself ‘If my big, strong, older brother can’t make it out of the same pattern, what hope do I have?’ I don’t want you to hurt anymore. I want you to be happy and live your life.”

John took a deep breath in and heard tires driving up the gravel path to the house entrance. His lyft was here. He kissed Martha’s head and untangled himself from her, standing up and grabbing his suitcase. “I am happy, Martha. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t like domestics. I like blood, and I like violence, and I like everything that Alex does to me. It makes me feel alive. You’re not me, darlin’, you’re so much like mom. If there’s anyone who is truly gonna get away from this hellhole, it’s gonna be you. I love you more than anything else in this world, and I will always be there for you. No matter what I do, never forget that.” He glanced at the house, and then at his sister one more time before descending the steps and getting in the car. “See you around, sis.”

The ride to the airport was short. The driver tried to make conversation, but John answered in a short, polite tone that he didn’t really feel like talking much, and that he’d prefer to sit in silence. He scrolled through his Twitter a little bit, halfheartedly retweeting and responding to posts. Once there, he thanked the driver and paid him after his suitcases were out of the trunk. He got his tickets and sat in a chair nearby his terminal.

Worry took over his mind. There had been no word from Hercules or Lafayette regarding Alex. John had tried to contact them while he waited, but nothing came of it, so time became an agonizing mistress. She tied John to the minute hand of a clock, made him feel every tick, tick, tick and every pound of his heart. What had happened to Alex? Laf had only said that he had to take him to the hospital. Had Alex fallen? Had he tried to commit suicide? John mentally berated himself for the last thought. Alex was much too proud to kill himself, so obviously that was out of the question. His plane was called, and John went through the motions of walking into the flying machine. The stewardess smiled warmly, and John was sure she greeted him in a form of a question, but everything seemed far away, and the voices around him sounded as if they were underwater.

It had something to do with AIDS. It had to be. There wasn’t any other explanation, and with the little detail Lafayette was able to give him over the phone, it made the most logical sense. They all knew Alex was going to die, and quickly. John knew it most of all, though. He’d been planning for the day where his boyfriend wasted away after months of suffering. He knew Alex wasn’t going to live to a ripe, old age with the rest of them. Still, John thought he would have made it at least to fifty.

After he sat in his seat, his phone went off again, and John answered without hesitation. “H-Hello?” He asked, his voice shaky and fumbling around.

“Where are you?” It was Hercules, his voice just as equally as torn up, yet it still contained that gruff essence that John knew so well.

“On a... On a plane? We’re just going to take off soon, so I can’t talk for maybe more than a minute.”

“Okay...”

“How’s Alex?”

“John, I-”

“Sir,” The same stewardess who greeted him as he walked up the plane now was bent over slightly by his seat. Her face was contorted into an unsightly frown, obviously disapproving of what John was doing. “You can’t be on your phone. We’re about to take off, and it’ll interfere with our systems.”

“Oh fuck off, lady,” John hissed, his voice souring. He turned his attention back to the phone“Herc? Hey, Hercules, I gotta go. I’ll land in two hours, then get a lyft to the hospital, just send me the address.”

“R-Right. Okay, bye. I’ll see you later. I love you? I love you so much, you don’t even know. I love you, John.”

John hung up without saying it back.

He sat back in his seat, turning his head so he could look out the window. It was black out, yet the sky was starless, and John hated it. The lights of the airport terminal polluted the milky way into non-existence, not able to keep John grounded as the plane took off.

As a little boy, John had always wanted to explore the stars. His mother, ever the enabler, bought John documentaries about space, and for one Christmas presented him with a telescope. She was beautiful, John remembered, like a nebula in the deep recesses of the universe. Her eyes were as bright as Andromeda was, her hair shone like the moon. Though the world outside was black as they zoomed through the air, John pictured his mother, bright as she was when she was alive.

He wondered if Alex would have liked her. He wondered if his mother would have approved of their relationship, or if she would have been like Martha, uneasy and unhappy with the choices her son had made. John didn’t think it mattered anymore. His mother was dead, and soon Alex would be too, and John would be left alone without a care in the world. Sure, he had his sister, and Hercules, and Lafayette, but they didn’t understand him, they could never understand him. They didn’t know him inside and out like Alex did, like his mother had.

Another stewardess came to him after a half hour and provided him with a small cup of water. John politely denied the food, just sipped his drink until the plane landed. He turned on his phone as he exited the terminal, seeing only the text message from Hercules regarding the address of the hospital. He ordered a lyft, and silently got in when the car arrived, giving the driver instructions on where to do.

The stars would never appear to John in New York City. The lights were too bright and confusing, heralding a man who would be eternally lost without the expansive compass above him. John leaned his head against the cool window, sighing. His heart ached for Alex, for a simpler time. He ached for the time before Alex ran away, where Lafayette would get up early on Saturdays and make everyone else pancakes, where Alex would be less guarded and would go out to the balcony with John and chain-smoke until noon, where Hercules would cuddle with all of them all at once in the evenings. John longed for those days and nights, but, just as the stars, they would never come back to the cement and machine city.

When the driver pulled into the drop-off zone of the hospital, John gave him two twenties, told him to keep the change, and headed inside. Immediately he was struck by a sickly sweet smell, possibly lavender, but it was obvious that the flowery scent was covering up the still-too-strong aroma of antiseptic. John took a deep breath and was about to let it out when someone screamed his name.

“J-John! Oh, my John!” Lafayette nearly tackled him to the floor, effectively knocking any sort of air out of John’s lungs, and sending him into a furry of gasps and coughs. “S-Sorry. I didn’t... I mean... shit...”

John stood up to full height after a few more seconds of regaining his composure. He waved off his boyrfriend’s apology with the back of his hand. “It’s okay, really. It’s okay, Lafayette. I’m fine. Where’s Alex? What’s wrong with him?”

“Uh... Ah... I don’t really know. That... That is to say, well, er... I’m not his immediate emergency contact? So, so they wouldn’t tell me, but they’ll tell you.”

“You’re his boyfriend, Laf. They should have granted you access based on your relationship with him.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re already listed as his boyfriend, and you know how closed-minded society is nowadays. They’d never believe four men could be dating each other all at once. I tried to tell them... well, at least the nurse at the desk right over there.” John pinched the bridge of his nose as Lafayette gestured to the woman typing at the computer.

“Alright. I’ll go sort things out. Stay here, okay?” John turned and started to walk towards the desk, but froze when Lafayette spoke up again.

“Can’t I come with?”

John kept his back turned. “I kind of just want to see Alex by myself. Besides, don’t you want to head home? It’s nearly four a.m, you need to rest.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here. I want to be with you.”

 

“I’ll be with Alex and talking to the nurses. I can’t do that and comfort you at the same time.”

“Are you... Are you kidding?”

 

“Do I sound like I’m in a joking mood?”

“Fuck you, Laurens. I can’t believe you just said that. I’m your boyfriend. You should be able to comfort me when I need it, and, fuck, I need it now more than ever.”

“Alex needs me, too. You’re able to go home, take a bath, be with Herc. Alex can’t do that, so I’m going to go and hold his hand and figure out what he needs.” John cleared his throat to signal the end of the conversation and went to talk to the nurse. She checked Alex’s paperwork and gave John the all-clear to visit his room. He started down the hallway and heard Lafayette’s voice for the final time, monotone and lifeless.

“He’s abusing heroin again. There are five needle marks on his left arm. He’s lying to you, John, lying to all of us. He’s never changed.”  
***  
There was a little slip of paper beside the door that read, A. HAMILTON, and that was when John knew this wasn’t a dream. There were a few indications elsewhere that the whole situation wasn’t, like the fact nothing felt out of place, or the fact he could clearly make out faces and voices. But the little slip of paper is what did him in.

 

Situations like this one regarding Alex popped up every few years. The first one happened in their freshman year of high school, when Alex had come down with a severe illness and John secretly visited him on the weekends. Then again their senior year, after Alex contracted a nasty bout of the flu that left him hospitalized for a week. In hindsight, John should have probably known that it was AIDS, because no one got so severely sick as Alex ever did. The last time John could clearly remember Alex being so horribly bedridden was when he came back for Christmas. John had hopped that this wouldn’t happen again, that the expansive cost of their medical bills would stop swelling and start shrinking, and he had hopped that Alex would have finally done what he said he was going to do and stop doing drugs and get the fuck better. But the universe apparently had it out for John Laurens, and hopes stayed hopes, and dreams stayed dreams, and reality was just a big clusterfuck of cataclysms and misfortunes. He sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head, and opened the door.

At first, all John was aware of was the sound of machines beeping, and then he opened his eyes. There lay Alex. His Alex, who had given him the world in the form of language and fists and shown him the bright side of being a degenerate, in a small, white bed. His slightly-greasy black hair was neatly pressed to his side. John sighed, pulling up a chair. He didn’t look at Alex’s arms, didn’t want to truly believe Lafayette. He wanted to believe that what Alex said was the truth, that he had stopped using drugs besides the occasional cigarette. John focused on Alex’s face, on the way his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twitched oddly with every breath he took. There was an oxygen tube up his nose, and John reached up to pull a few errant strands away from his smooth forehead.

“Oh, baby girl,” John breathed, letting his head fall onto Alex’s chest.

“Mr. Laurens?” At the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice, John sat up ramrod straight, just as his father taught him to do.

“Yes sir?”

“Ma’am, actually,” John turned around, his face red from embarrassment as he saw a woman in front of him. “I’m Alexander’s doctor.”

“Right... okay. So, what’s wrong with him?”

“Simply put, it’s sepsis. It’s a textbook case, really. Alexander’s left arm has a couple of healed up needle marks, though some of them have become infected and inflamed.”

“Oh... Right. Is he going to die? Like... Do I have to start thinking about which song I’ll play during his funeral reception?”

“Not quite yet, Mr. Laurens. Though your friend got him here a little late for our liking, his quick thinking allowed us to put Alex on a strong, steady path of antibiotics and fever reducers. It’s a little too early to tell, but we seem to think that Mr. Hamilton is taking quite well to our recommended course of treatment.”

“That’s good...” John looked back at Alex, focusing on his face again. He took a few silent breaths, his shoulders heaving with the effort.

“Mr. Hamilton has a history of drug use, doesn’t he? Our records indicate-”

“Yeah,” John’s response was clipped, his voice forceful. “He’s been an addict to nearly everything, but I think you know that, and I also think you know how long, as well.” He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want the doctor to say it. He didn’t want to believe that what Lafayette said was true, because it couldn’t be.

The doctor walked to the other side of the bed and took Alex’s arm in her hand. John hissed posessively, instinctively reaching out for Alex before stopping himself. “When your friend brought him in, we ran a drug test, and we found high traces of heroin in his system. Not only was the needle infected, but he did not treat the holes with antiseptic, and that’s what caused the sepsis.” After checking a few vitals, she stood up, said something that John either didn’t hear or didn’t understand, and excited the room. John’s eyes did not follow her, instead keeping a trained watch on the tainted pock-marks on his arms. He felt sick. He was going to throw up. The world was spinning, the whole of creation rearranging itself into meaningless little patterns.

“You nasty little fucker,” He hoarsely whispered to Alex. “I can’t believe I fell for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> consider buying me a coffee!  
> https://ko-fi.com/U6U85DYJ


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